A Long Road
by skag trendy
Summary: For Sam, the road to recovery was, quite literally, long. Set any season. No spoilers. Medical facts are a big fat lie... the usual. Sick, injured Sam with guilty, protective Dean. Nice and simple. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.
1. Chapter 1

**A Long Road.**

**For Sam, the road to recovery was, quite literally, long.**

**Set any season. No spoilers. Medical facts are a big fat lie... the usual.**

**Sick, injured Sam with guilty, protective Dean.**

**Nice and simple.**

**Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.**

"Dean, where are you? Are you ok? Look… just call me when you get this message."

Sam sighed and threw his cell phone on the bed.

Dean had obviously spent the night with the cute waitress from the rock café across town, and it was now midday. It was entirely possible he was just being vindictive, but he had at least sent Sam a text a few hours ago. Apparently, the waitress also doubled as a masseuse and Dean was totally addicted to chicks like that. Given his love of 'Magic Fingers', it could be hours before Sam heard from him again.

Sam had left the bar early the evening before, sick of his brother's cold shoulder, but handed over the remainder of his cash as a peace offering. Dean had pocketed the money without a word of thanks, just gave a grunt of dismissal.

Sam scratched at his leg again. It'd been itching like a sonofabitch the last few hours, despite him having piled on peroxide and antiseptic cream. Black Dogs were a pain in the ass and it was the first time Sam had actually been injured by one, but at least he wasn't gushing blood.

Maybe he should've gotten the wound checked out, but it was nothing, barely a graze only just breaking the skin. He hadn't even mentioned it to Dean, which was just as well. Last thing he needed was his brother's sarcasm on top of everything else. Sam wasn't too popular with Dean at the moment, a little issue called a broken tail light from when Sam threw the Impala into reverse, skidded to avoid the Black Dog and hit a guard rail instead.

After they took the damn thing down, Sam was sent to Coventry with a one way ticket.

Dean would get over it, he always did, but in all honesty, right now Sam wasn't feeling too good. Tired, sluggish, and he was pretty sure he was running a low grade fever.

He shrugged. It was probably just flu or something.

Sam sank down on his bed and waited for Dean.

* * *

He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Sam blinked and slowly sat up, feeling shaky and uncoordinated. His leg throbbed angrily, and when he tried to move it…

"Ah shit!" he hissed in pain.

The limb was so hot and swollen against his jeans that he struggled with peeling the denim back to examine it.

What this little venture revealed wasn't a pretty sight. Red veins snaked down and round his leg from the scratch, blood stained pus had begun seeping out, and the whole wound looked seriously infected.

Sam reluctantly admitted to himself that it was time to seek advice, but when he Googled free walk-in medical clinics in the area he was dismayed to learn that the nearest one was at least four miles across town as straight the crow flies, and he didn't have money for a cab. He'd given it all to Dean the night before.

Shit.

Another phone call to his brother yielded no results, and Sam didn't bother leaving a message this time.

* * *

He was exhausted.

The long walk on an injured and infected leg had sapped what little strength he had left.

Sam virtually collapsed against the reception desk of the clinic some hours after leaving the motel, face flushed and sweaty with a full on raging fever.

"P-please," he panted, clinging onto the desk for all he was worth. "I-I need to s-see a d-doctor…"

The receptionist didn't look up at him.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, in a tone of voice that suggested she didn't care either way, and that life in general was boring the crap out of her.

Ever the considerate gentleman, Sam responded immediately by passing out.

The woman looked up and, seeing no one, peered over the top of her desk in confusion.

"Huh…" she muttered, frankly impressed.

It wasn't everyday a woman her age saw such a good looking guy lying unconscious on the waiting room floor.

_Things are finally getting interesting around here._

* * *

"Can you hear me? Open your eyes, son."

When Sam came round again a short while later, a guy in his mid-forties was wrapping a cuff round his upper arm.

"You ok?" the guy smiled, worriedly. "Gave us all quite a scare."

"Wha…?" Sam wearily lifted his head to check his surroundings and discovered he was still in the waiting room by the reception desk. Several people hovered nearby, watching him anxiously like he was some crack-head about to go postal, but most importantly there was no sign of his brother.

"Can you tell me your name?"

Sam blinked and looked up at the guy again, this time taking in his white coat and nametag. A good squint revealed it was one of the clinic's doctors, but that was all Sam could make out in his fevered state.

"S-Sam… Sam Hunter," he whispered.

"I'm Dr Lee, Sam. I'm going to take care of you, ok?"

Sam wasn't really listening. The effort of answering left him a little breathless and weak. How the hell was he supposed to get back to the motel like this? Dean was gonna kick his ass… speaking of… Sam tried to fumble for his cell phone.

"N-need to call m'brother," he said, groggily.

"Just take it easy, Sam," the doctor advised him. "Let's get you into one of the exam rooms and check you over first."

Sam blinked owlishly at him. "Huh?"

Doc Lee signalled to someone Sam couldn't see and a gurney rolled up beside him.

"No," Sam slowly shook his head and struggled to get up. "No… I c'n walk."

"I don't think that's such a good idea right now, Sam…"

But Sam was determined enough that no one could stop him. He crawled up onto one knee, keeping the injured leg out-stretched, then with a gargantuan effort managed to haul himself up onto both feet, swaying dangerously and fighting the urge to be sick.

"Ok," the doctor nodded, a little taken aback, but gently grasped his patient's arm and herded him through to the exam rooms. "So, where you from? Can't say I've seen you around here before."

"The A-apple Tr-tree Motel," Sam stammered in due course, once he'd figured out the question.

"You drove all the way over here like this? Really?"

The doctor sounded a little alarmed at the idea, so Sam decided to reassure him the only way he knew how.

"Nah, m'bro's got the car," he explained, as they entered the first room on the left, Sam swaying and nearly dropping on the spot. "I walked."

Dr Lee's eyebrows almost hit the ceiling, while he clutched at his young patient to keep him from face planting.

"Hurts," Sam added mournfully.

"What hurts, Sam?" the doc asked, gently pushing him down onto a sturdy exam table.

Sam pointed to his left leg and pouted like a seven year old.

"Ok, let's take a look huh?" Lee nodded, and wondered for a brief second if he was dealing with a mentally disabled patient, but figured it was probably just the pyrexia talking.

After a few failed attempts to roll up Sam's jean leg, the doctor grabbed a pair of scissors and decided to cut the material instead.

Sam watched dispassionately as the denim was split up to his knee, revealing the white gauze he'd taped to the wound before he left. Worryingly, it was stained yellow from fresh leakage.

Doc Lee cut away the gauze and barely kept in a gasp.

_Jesus…_

"I'm gonna need to flush this out, Sam, and run some blood work," he told his patient, calmly. "I'll give you a shot of broad spectrum antibiotic, but you're gonna need to stay here overnight for observation, ok? So we'll call your brother…"

"No!" Sam snapped, suddenly sounding coherent and anxious. "Just give me the drugs and I'll leave. I don't need to stay."

"You're burning up, and there's every chance you have septicaemia," said Lee, but he'd seen how stubborn this guy was and knew he wasn't going to make him see reason. "Trust me…"

"I don't trust anyone but Dean," Sam's quiet response silenced the doctor's protest. "I'm not staying the night. Now give me the damn drugs."

The two men stared each other down.

Sam shivered and sweated, but remained defiant until the doc lowered his gaze and pulled a blanket round the kid.

Dr Lee sighed. "I'll be back with the antibiotics in just a minute, but please, I beg you, at least have the blood work done and leave me a contact number," he said. "That way, if anything shows up critical I can contact you and get you straight back in for further treatment."

Sam nodded, but Lee got the distinct feeling he was about to get fake-numbered.

There was a way around that, but it was kind of sneaky.

"Ok. You call your brother," Lee sighed, reluctantly, and headed for the door. "I'll get the shot and patch up the wound with a fresh bandage."

By the time Lee returned, Sam had left yet another message on his brother's voice mail.

"No luck getting through, huh?" asked the doc, as he swabbed the inside of Sam's arm with an alcohol wipe. He clicked his tongue when Sam shook his head, looking sad and downcast.

_We're back to the pouting seven year old again._

In truth, while he felt sorry for the kid, it just made it easier on Lee's conscience with what he was about to do. He was prepared to face the consequences later if need be.

"I'm sure he'll respond soon, Sam," he said. "In the meantime, why don't you make yourself comfortable and get some rest. I'll come and wake you when he gets here."

"What?" Sam blinked. "No… I'll walk back…"

He was suddenly overcome by a strange lethargy, and a weird sensation flowed through him. Glancing at the needle in his arm, then up at the doctor's impassive face, realisation dawned.

Lee noticed his patient trying to scowl, but he came off looking like a lost and chastised puppy.

"Wha' ya donnne t'meeee?" he slurred, blinking drunkenly and looking comically panicked.

"Nothing to be scared of, Sam," said Lee, gently. "You're safe here. This is just a little something to help you sleep…"

Sam was out cold before the doc finished his sentence.

Lee sighed and administered the antibiotics. He really didn't like himself too much for this, but he spent some time taking care of the wound, then settled back to watch over his vulnerable patient.

He should have been doing other things, had other less urgent cases to assess, not to mention a sea of paperwork, but... he just couldn't bring himself to leave Sam all alone.

* * *

Someone shouting for Sam out in the waiting room three hours later told Lee big brother had arrived.

Something also told Lee it might be prudent to brace himself for what was coming…

He didn't have to wait long before a furiously pissed Dean Hunter presented himself in Sam's room, most notably without knocking.

_At least he left the door intact_, thought Lee, and introduced himself as calmly as possible under the circumstances.

However, any calm state of affairs he sought went right out the window when he told the older brother why Sam was out for the count.

"You did _what?_"

"I drugged him so he couldn't leave."

Narrowed green eyes glittered angrily in the overhead strip lights, and the doc instinctively ran through a little list in his head.

_Life insurance all paid up? _

_**Check.**_

_Last will and testament updated? _

_**Check.**_

_Funeral arrangements in place? _

_**Check.**_

_Hmm._

_What are the chances I can outrun this guy? _

_**Are you fucking kidding me?**_

And so, with that in mind, Lee bravely fought the urge to run for the hills, and stood his ground. Not that he had much choice, pinned to the wall as he was.

"You unethical _sonofbitch!_" Dean shook him like a rag doll. "How dare you?"

"Your brother is sick, I had no choice!"

"_No choice my ass! You jumped up, God-complexed, dick!"_

Bricking it though he was, Lee felt himself bristle with indignation.

No way was he taking this shit lying down, and poked Dean in the chest with a decidedly shaky finger.

"Did you know he walked four miles on an infected leg to get here? Huh?" he said, fighting every instinct that told him to _withdraw the fucking finger or lose it, you fucking idiot!_ "Risking septicaemia and god knows what else? All because he couldn't get hold of you?"

The older brother froze and glanced over at his sleeping sibling, which Lee took as a good sign that he was finally getting a true grasp of the situation.

"He what?" Dean's brow wrinkled with raised eyebrows, in part due to surprise but, mainly, Lee suspected it was down to a good deal of guilt. "Sammy…"

He let go of the doc instantly, almost dropping him to the floor, and strode across the room. Leaning over the kid, he frowned and pressed a hand to the side of his little brother's face.

"Is he gonna be ok?" he asked, suddenly sounding meek and worried.

Lee's feet scrabbled for purchase until he managed to stand upright.

He adjusted his white coat with as much dignity as he could muster, and joined Dean by the exam bench.

"The infection was pretty bad," said Lee, quietly clearing his throat and trying to pretend he hadn't just suffered one of the most humiliating experiences of his life. _Thank god the nurses didn't see that. I'd never live it down. _"I'd like to keep him in a while longer just to make sure we caught it, but yeah. I think he'll be fine."

Dean nodded, not taking his eyes of Sam.

"Whatever you say, doc," he whispered. "Whatever Sammy needs, he gets. Whether he likes it or not."

Lee stared from the brother lying unconscious on the bench, to the one standing beside him. Dean seemed more _parental_ than brotherly, that over-protective streak more commonly seen in mother-bears watching out for their cubs.

He inwardly shrugged. If it meant Sam got the proper care he needed, then that was just fine by Lee.

"I have another couple of patients to see," he lied through his teeth. "But I'll be back later to check on you both and see what Sam's blood work turns up."

Dean nodded again, hand still on the side of Sam's face. He turned his head slightly to look over at the doc.

"Sure. And, uh… thanks," he mumbled, a little shamefaced but met the man's gaze out of respect. "For keeping him here…"

Lee raised a hand, dismissing the apology before it really got started.

"Don't mention it," and left the room before Dean could reply to that.

Dean turned back to his sleeping brother and sighed deeply.

"Aw Sammy. What m'I gonna do with ya, huh?"

* * *

Dean woke up to a sore back, a numb ass, and Sam staring dazedly up at the ceiling through half closed eyes.

The doc had moved his little brother to a more comfortable room with a proper bed some hours ago.

Shame the damn seats weren't an improvement, thought Dean, and blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

"Hey," Dean called softly, and sat up straight.

Sam whimpered. His large, shaky hands began grasping desperately at his blankets, and he panicked when he tried to sit up and couldn't find the strength.

"Whoa, down boy!" Dean reached out to his brother, palming the kid's sweaty face and gently pressing him back into the pillows. "It's ok, Sammy. Just take it easy."

"Huh?" replied Sam, and turned his head towards Dean, eyelids heavy over fever glazed pupils. "Wha…?"

Dean frowned, briefly struck dumb by guilt. Sam was almost panting, like he couldn't get enough air, and his skin felt like it was on fire.

Sam suddenly grabbed Dean's hand, his grip surprisingly strong in spite of everything.

"D'n," he whispered, breathlessly, squinting up at his older brother. "M'sorry 'bout the c-car."

Dean closed his eyes for a second in despair. "Sammy…"

"I d-didn't m-mean to," his brother sobbed out, heartbroken, and obviously misinterpreting Dean's response as rejection. "P-please… d… don't hhhate me?"

Dean's eyes snapped open and fixed on Sam.

"Sammy, no!" he snapped, angrily. "Don't you dare start that crap!"

Sam looked shocked and his mouth fell open.

After a pause, his bottom lip started trembling and he turned his head away, eyes scrunched shut and sniffing back tears.

"M'sorry… m'sorry… m'sorry…" he whimpered over and over.

"Shit!" Dean muttered, and stood up to lean over his brother. "That's not what I meant..."

Sam wasn't listening, too lost in fever and his guilt over the car, still rambling apologies and begging for forgiveness.

"Sammy look at me." Dean grasped the kid's chin and gently forced him to comply. When he had Sam's full attention, or at least as much as the fever would allow, he stroked a few damp strands of hair away from his little brother's flushed face.

"I was being a dick about the car. You did all you could, Sam, and I'm so damn sorry I gave you so much shit over it."

Sam's frown combined with those sad, puppy dog eyes would have been funny under other circumstances, but right then Dean wasn't laughing.

He stared back at Sam, eyelashes wet with tears.

"And I'm also sorry I didn't listen to your messages sooner," Dean told him. "But you shouldn't have walked all that way on your own with an injured leg. Why didn't you get a cab?"

Sam's breathing hitched a few times before he answered.

"Didn't have any cash," he mumbled, simply, sounding ashamed and lost.

_Aw Sammy…_

Dean shook his head and sniffed. "You gave it to me before you left the bar, huh?"

Sam nodded slightly but otherwise didn't answer. Instead, he began chewing nervously on his bottom lip and watching his brother guardedly, as though unsure any of this was, in fact, real.

"Sammy?" Dean eyed him, worriedly. "Are you hearing me, kid?"

Sam blinked, opened his mouth and shut it again. His gaze searched Dean's face intently, still squinting and struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Are you really here?" he asked, softly.

Dean pursed his lips and sat down on the edge of the bed, hands still grasping Sam's face between his hands.

"Yeah, Sammy," he whispered back. "I'm really here. Not going anywhere."

Sam offered a tentative smile that told Dean he was finally starting to believe.

"You're stayin'?" he asked, eyes all big and hopeful. "P-promise? Don't like this place, Dean. M'scared. D-don't wanna be alone here."

He bit his lip again, waiting anxiously for confirmation.

"Yep, I promise, now get some sleep ok?" said Dean, and smiled back, silently blessing all little brothers everywhere.

He gently stroked the side of Sam's face and, though he would never admit it out loud, his heart melted like a big girl when Sam snuggled closer. Kid probably didn't even realise he'd done it.

"You're safe here with me," said Dean, watching as Sam obediently closed his eyes and let sleep take him. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Sammy. Least of all me."

Once the kid was all the way out, Dean snorted softly and felt a burst of love so deep it could have come from the very foundations of the Earth.

Sam still trusted him, in spite of everything. It was a close call, a lesson Dean would take to heart and learn from.

_**TBC... **_

_**This is a two chapter story, already finished.**_

_**Shite really hits the fan in the final chapter.**_

_**Want to read it?**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A Long Road**

**Chapter 2/Epilogue**

"You guys ok in here?" a soft voice whispered from the doorway.

Doc Lee had poked his head in while passing by and smiled when he saw that Sam was asleep.

Dean grinned back. "Yeah, we're fine," he answered, quietly. "Sam woke up for a bit, but I got him off to sleep again."

"That's good," Lee entered the room all the way and picked up Sam's chart from the end of the bed. "'Cos he's gonna need it."

Dean frowned, his heart picking up speed.

"Why? Everything's ok, ain't it? I mean, his fever's pretty bad but it's getting better, right?"

He eyed the doc closely, not liking the guy's body language one bit.

It spoke of a longer stay for Sam, something neither brother was going to be happy about.

Lee sighed and dropped the reassuring smile.

"Sam has septicaemia, and his fever isn't abating under the usual treatment," he pinched the bridge of his nose, and ignored his body's umpteenth plea for sleep. "He needs something much more heavy duty. Whatever kind of dog bit him? It was riddled with disease."

Dean stared at him for a full minute before he asked the dreaded question.

"Doc. Tell me. Sam's gonna make it, right?"

Getting to his feet and hovering protectively over his brother, he grew more anxious and angry when Lee didn't reply straight away.

"_Right?_"

Lee shrugged and shook his head, still staring at Sam's chart.

"I can't be certain of anything until I put him on the new treatment," he glanced sadly up at Dean. "I'm sorry I can't offer any guarantees. Sam's fighting it as best he can, but there's a strong possibility it'll get the better of him."

Dean suddenly looked lost and bewildered, like a frightened little boy. He looked down at his brother, lying so still and impossibly small in the bed. His eyes followed the IV lines up to the numerous bags suspended above.

Nutrients, antibiotics and saline. All were working to save Sam, and failing.

Lee took a risk and patted the older brother's shoulder.

"I'm going to do everything I can for him, Dean," he said, quietly. "And I mean _everything._ I'll work around the clock if I have to."

_Again_, he silently added, and mentally waved bye-bye to his nice, big, comfortable bed for another twenty four hours.

Dean couldn't bring himself to speak, just nodded and hung his head.

* * *

Dean clung to Sam's hand throughout the next day and night, despairing every time his little brother thrashed and whimpered in pain. The fever had Sam strung out with nightmares whenever he slept, and terrified rigid from hallucinations whenever he was awake.

"Easy, Sammy," Dean whispered.

He bathed Sam's face and neck with a cold, damp washcloth and tried his best to stay calm, but every time Sam called for him, or Jess, or Dad, his heart broke just a little bit more.

"D-Dean…" Sam whimpered again, face flushed, dark shadows prominent under his swollen eyes. "H-here?"

Dean knew what he was asking.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm right here, kiddo," he replied, shakily, mouth trembling with grief. The tears came tumbling down his face without warning, and Dean fought hard to contain his sobs. "I'm still here with you, not leaving. And neither are you, are we clear on that, Sam?"

Sam shuddered harshly; his eyes searching the room for god knew what, still calling out for his brother.

"Sammy…" Dean caved in and sobbed out loud, the battle to control his emotions finally lost.

* * *

Lee wiped at his eyes and turned away from the door to Sam's room.

Nothing was working. The antibiotics administered yesterday hadn't made a dent, even seemed to fuel the mysterious pathogen. The pyrexia had worsened, and his patient was suffering from severe dehydration.

There was no avoiding it. Sam Hunter was dying and there wasn't a damn thing Lee could do to stop it.

He'd tried everything, but he had never come across an infection quite like it before. The bacteria were doubling in numbers every hour, in spite of hefty antibiotic therapy. In fact, the species was very similar in appearance to that of Staphylococcus aureas, the bacteria often responsible for boils and pimples and other more serious, life-threatening illness, but that was where the similarities stopped.

The toxin it secreted was vastly different to that of Staph, and seemed to not only allow the bacteria to evade Sam's immune system, but to also gradually destroy it. The pattern of response was similar to that of the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, and what was even _more_ confusing? Damn thing had started attacking the poor guy's kidneys and liver, like some kind of weird fucking Ebola.

On top of that, an electron micrograph of the organism showed a strange electric blue, glowing aura around the cell membranes that seemed to jump and twitch.

And that just wasn't possible.

This was something new. Lee's hand had hovered more than once over the phone in the mess room. One call to the Centres for Disease Control in Atlanta and the brothers would be split up, quarantined and held indefinitely for testing.

Lee wasn't sure he could do that to them, not when Sam was critically ill and on the brink of death. Besides, the laboratory staff had proven by pure accident, when an opened phial of Sam's blood had been dropped on the floor, splattering the stuff everywhere, that it was completely harmless to everyone else.

Doc Lee was pretty sure he was heading for the nut house after all this.

This whole case was completely fucked up and he, quite honestly, had no idea what to do next.

It wasn't fair, _dammit!_

How could a guy so stubborn that he walked four miles across town with a raging infection, now lose the fight?

"No," Lee suddenly shook his head, and stalked with renewed determination down the hallway towards the labs. "I'm not losing him. There must be something I've missed…"

* * *

"Bobby, please," Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes, and fought to stay sane. "Call me when you get this message."

It was the fifth time he'd called, and the fifth time he'd gotten voice mail.

Now Dean understood how his brother had felt two days ago.

Sam panted into an oxygen mask, a recent additional feature along with the blood pressure cuff. His breathing had become laboured during the night, and his skin felt almost like tissue paper to the touch. He was on his third saline bag already and it was only ten in the morning.

Dean wrapped one of Sam's limp hands in both of his.

"C'mon, Sammy," he begged, quietly. "Don't you quit on me now, huh? I need you, little brother. Need you _so damn much_."

Sam's head rolled across the pillow towards him, but that was his only response.

"I know you're trying hard, Sam, but you gotta keep holding on. Bobby will know what to do. We'll get you all fixed up before you know it…"

_Smoke Over Water_ rang out, sounding tinny and pathetic in the quiet of Sam's room.

"Oh thank God!" Dean breathed out when he saw who the caller was, and answered immediately. "Bobby!"

"_Dean? What the hell's going on? Where's Sam?"_

"He's right here," Dean glanced at his brother's face. "That Black Dog we were hunting a few days back? Damn thing bit him."

There was a brief pause, followed by

"_Balls!" _then _"He ok? How bad is it?"_

"It was only a scratch but he got septicaemia," Dean replied, still staring at his brother's face. "Bobby… he got sick in a matter of hours, and he's getting worse."

Another pause, then

"_What shape ears did it have?"_

Dean blinked. "I dunno… _dog-eared_ shape? What the hell kind of question is that? Sam's _dying _Bobby!"

"_Just answer the damn question!"_

"Uh," Dean ran a hand over his spiky hair as he thought it through.

"I dunno, like a Doberman Pinscher's I guess?"

"_Shit! Dean, that's no ordinary Black Dog. Its the original East Anglian Shuck's long lost cousin, all the way over from Germany. Those creatures are virtually unheard of but highly lethal. They carry a phantom pathogen which mimics every disease known to man and a few we don't even know about! It only infects what it bites! What the hell were ya idjits thinking!"_

"We were _thinking_ 'let's kill the bastard before it harms someone else'," Dean retorted, sarcastically. "It ripped the throats out of two kids last week! And how the hell were we to know it could infect like this? It's not like many people get bit by a Black Dog and live to tell about it!"

He heard Bobby breathing on the other end of the line, and felt immediate remorse.

"Look, I'm sorry, man," said Dean, despondently. "Haven't slept properly in a while, and Sammy… he's…"

Bobby sighed into the phone. _"Forget it, son. No harm, no foul."_

Dean huffed out a breath. "So, is there anything we can do for Sam?"

"_Did you salt and burn the body?"_

"Yeah," Dean's heart sank, taking hope with it. "Yeah we did."

"_Then go back and get its' teeth. They ain't like ordinary teeth, so they'd have survived the burn, and they'll grind real easy into a fine powder. Dissolve it in hot holy water to neutralise it, and then force the __**fresh**__ mixture – and I mean so fresh the water's still scolding - down Sam's throat, make yourself comfortable, sit back and wait it out."_

Dean turned away from Sam's bed. "You sure that'll work? 'Cos if Sam wakes up and I'm not there…"

"_Got no choice but to try, son. If you don't, Sam's finished."_

And on that cheery note, the conversation came to a close.

* * *

Dean leaned over Sam's prone form and ran a hand through the kid's hair.

"I'll be back soon, Sammy," he said. "I promise."

To his surprise, Sam opened his eyes and gazed up at him.

"N-no… Dean, p-please don't go," he whimpered, voice muffled by the oxygen mask. "Please… d-don't leave me… I'll be good, I swear… please…"

Dean's heart broke all over again for the hundredth time, and he perched on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, I won't be gone long, ok?" he whispered, smiling sadly at his brother. "You haven't done anything wrong, Sammy; I just need to go right now. But I'll come back. I won't leave you for long."

Sam weakly shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and reached out to Dean as he backed away from the bed.

"Noooooo…_please…_"

"I gotta go, Sam. I have to go get something that'll help you," Dean pleaded with his delirious little brother to understand, but Sam was too sick and addled by fever. "I swear I'm coming back, Sammy. But right now I gotta go save your life."

He left the room without looking back, scared that if he did he'd never be able to leave.

But as he drove away Sam's cries were still ringing in his ears, and he tried not to wonder if the kid would still be around to come back to.

* * *

By the time Dean got back, Sam was on a respirator, unconscious and fading fast.

"Where in hell have you been?" asked Lee, furiously. "I've been trying to get hold of you for hours!"

Dean ignored the doc, shouldered his way into the room, and headed straight for his brother.

He eyed the ET tube and placed a thermos on the night stand.

"Get that thing out of him," he growled, without looking away from Sam.

Lee gaped. "What? No way! He'll _die_!"

"Trust me, if you don't do it he'll die anyway," said Dean, slipping a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a Ziploc bag filled with white powder.

"Is that what I think it is?" the doc asked, in disgust. "Illegal drugs aren't going to save him, Dean!"

"It's not drugs, its ground up Black Dog's teeth," Dean told him, without thinking, busy opening both thermos and bag.

"Are you insane?" Lee wondered aloud, assuming Dean was kidding.

"Just do it!" Dean roared, startling the doctor.

Lee stared at him for a long second. He had no idea why, but…

He turned to his patient, took a deep breath, and began the extubation.

Sam's body bucked weakly, desperate for oxygen. His mouth fell open with each strangled gasp, neck and back arching painfully off the bed, and Dean seized the opportunity like a gift.

He quickly emptied the bag into the thermos, closed the lid, gave it a good hard shake, then removed the lid again, and grabbed Sam's chin.

"Bottom's up," he whispered, and poured the entire contents into his brother's mouth. Jamming Sam's jaw shut in a tight grip and pinching off the kid's nose with his other hand; Dean grimaced and held on while Sam gurgled, and bucked more strongly, more wildly this time.

The kid's body shuddered until his natural swallowing reflex switched on, and forced the mixture of holy water and ground up teeth into his stomach.

Surprisingly, the scolding hot liquid didn't burn Sam's skin like Dean thought it might. And that ticked one more problem off his list.

Once he was sure it had all gone down, Dean let go of Sam's jaw and nose, and pulled the kid up into a sitting position. Sam's limp body slumped forward, gasping and choking, while Dean took his weight and rubbed his back.

"There ya go, Sammy," Dean murmured into Sam's hair. "Told you I'd come back, didn't I?" He looked at the doc, who was staring back at him in disbelief, and smiled sheepishly. "Old holistic remedy. Friend of ours swears to God it works like a charm every time."

Lee carried on staring, until Dean realised he wasn't actually staring at _him_. He was staring at Sam.

Pulling away, he cupped Sam's face, tilted it upwards and watched intently.

The fever, which had been raging out of control only moments before, was slowly abating. The dark shadows under Sam's eyes were visibly receding.

Though still obviously sick, Sam was sleeping peacefully.

Dean's smile grew. He gently laid his brother back against the pillows and tucked the blankets in around him.

"Rest up, Sammy," he said, softly. "Take all the time you need."

Lee was still staring, possibly in deep shock. He raised a badly shaking hand and pointed at his patient.

"Mwwwwaaammaaaaaaa..." he wibbled, nervously, not even sure what he was trying to say.

Dean nodded. He felt kind of sorry for the guy.

"Yeah, I know," he assured the doc. "Comes as a shock, huh? Tell you what. You stay quiet about this, and we'll be gone by morning."

Lee blinked and cleared his throat.

"Make it tomorrow night," he said, voice shaking but professional face back on. "Just to be sure Sam's ok. The pulse oximeter's registering low oxygen levels and he's still running a high temperature."

He indicated the little clip attached to the middle finger of Sam's left hand.

Dean's heart thudded loudly in his chest. Things had really gotten bad for Sammy while he was quite literally grinding teeth.

"I can do something about that," said Lee, quickly, seeing Dean's face grow pale.

He reached up and gently fixed a nasal cannula to Sam's face.

"He'll soon pick up," Lee reassured him. "You'll see."

An awkward silence fell between the two conscious men. There didn't seem to be much more to add, apart from one thing.

"Uh, I wanted to thank you," said Dean, humbly. "I know you pulled out all the stops to help Sammy. Including drugging him up so he couldn't leave."

He grinned suddenly. "Which he is gonna be _pissed_ about, by the way!"

"So I gathered," said Lee, wryly. "He wasn't exactly what I would call a happy bunny, but by the time he figured out what I was up to, it was too late."

"Crafty bastard," answered Dean, with no real heat.

Lee chuckled and headed for the door.

"Which is why I'm getting out before he wakes up. Your brother's way bigger than me." He turned to Dean at the last second. "Sam might still be groggy and unwell for a few days, so keep an eye on him, huh?"

Dean sent him a casual salute. "Sure thing, doc."

* * *

Sam came round early afternoon the next day to find Dean watching him.

It was kind of creepy.

"Uh, Dean?" he croaked out, sleepily. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't try to walk out of here before you're ready," Dean smirked at him. "I hear last time they had to stick you with a needle."

Sam scowled and reached up to remove the tube under his nose, but Dean batted his hand away.

"Dude! You've been sick for days, so leave that on, ok?" Dean dropped the smirk and frowned. "For now at least. If you get the all clear we can leave tonight."

Sam wrinkled his nose with disgust. "If you had to wear one of these…"

"Been there, done that…" Dean interrupted, and Sam had to concede the point.

They'd _both_ been there. Many, many times.

Dean stared at him in silence until Sam shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

"Dude, quit that," he mumbled and looked away.

"How you feeling, Sammy?" came the quiet question, one that demanded the truth.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes for a second, and Dean was struck by just how vulnerable he looked right then.

"Sam?" he prompted.

Sam looked back at him. "Tired. A bit sick."

He saw the look on Dean's face and amended that.

"Ok, a _lot_ sick. Like I've been drinking cheap whisky non-stop for the last three days and now I have the hangover from hell. There, ya happy now?"

His head thumped back against the pillow, already feeling exhausted and he'd only been awake a few minutes.

"How's the car?" he asked, when a sudden thought struck him. "Is she fixed?"

Dean ignored the question, and a second later a cool hand pressed against Sam's forehead. He didn't have the energy to fight it off and besides, it felt good.

"What?" Sam enquired, closing his eyes.

"Still got a slight fever, but nowhere near as bad as it was," Dean replied, softly.

Sam thought about that. "How bad did it get?"

The hand left.

A long, heartfelt sigh made Sam open his eyes again. "Dean?"

Dean hands were clasped together between his knees, and he was staring down at them.

"Bad enough," he answered, solemnly. "That's all you need to know."

"Dean…"

"Enough, Sammy, please?" Dean raised his head and gazed imploringly at Sam. "Another time, maybe, but not right now. I can't…. I just can't right _now_. You were dying…"

Sam's eyes widened with understanding. Last thing he wanted was to cause his brother more stress, not after all this.

"Ok," he said, gently, and reached out to give Dean's arm a comforting squeeze. "It's ok. Later, perhaps."

Things must've become really bad if Dean was too upset to even talk about it, or even yell and shout at Sam for his stupidity in getting hurt in the first place.

Never mind. He'd drag it out of him sooner or later.

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured, suddenly. "I already said it, but you were delirious at the time, so here it is."

He took a deep breath and looked Sam in the eye. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls, that I blanked you when you needed me most."

Sam frowned. "Dean, it's ok. My bad for getting sick in the first place..." he trailed of when his brother scowled deeply at the interruption, and nodded. It wasn't his floor right then.

Dean huffed again but still kept his gaze on Sam.

"And I overreacted about the car. What happened wasn't your fault and I should never have blamed you for it. Shit just happens, Sammy, so don't _you_ go blaming yourself either. You were bitten, and I should've known. Should've taken better care of you."

Sam smiled tiredly. There was no point in arguing with Dean when he was in this mood, so he nodded his forgiveness and looked around the room, trying to find a way to change the subject before either one of them became even more uncomfortable.

He soon found one, and wrinkled his nose on a sniff.

"What's that smell?" Sam lifted the nasal tube slightly and took another long sniff.

Dean frowned. "Huh?"

"Smells like... _dog's _breath or something round here," Sam grimaced and coughed. "If I didn't know better I could swear that was coming from me."

Dean's grin emerged slowly but surely from behind its' cloud, brightening up the room.

"Ah Sammy?"

He leaned over and murmured in Sam's ear.

An expression of absolute horror slowly stole across his little brother's face, and was followed by a stunned silence.

"Get me some mouth wash," Sam finally growled, and began scrubbing furiously at his tongue with his fingernails.

Dean shook his head in amusement. "Sam, take it easy..."

"Mouthwash, Dean," Sam barked back, voice still croaky but filled with a determination that spoke of some major ass kicking when he was feeling better. "Now!"

* * *

Lee found the goodbye note on Sam's nightstand, thanking him for all his help, and that the brothers had taken measures of damage control to ensure the infection didn't spread. The note hadn't gone into any details but Lee assumed that was why the bed was not only empty of pillows but also stripped of its sheets.

"Excellent," said Lee, sarcastically, to the empty room. "I'll be sure to pass this on to all the Microbiologists, Clinical Chemists and Haematologists who lost even more sleep than I did."

He shook his head fondly, in the understanding that he'd never see Sam and Dean ever again.

When all was said and done, he was rather relieved about that.

* * *

_**The End.**_

_**Cheers for all the wonderful reviews everyone!**_

_**Love ST xxx**_


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